


conclusion: penguin

by notveryhandy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/M, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, oh my gods they were loom mates, or:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notveryhandy/pseuds/notveryhandy
Summary: Narvin and Darkel find themselves stuck in a prison cell after a trust-building exercise gone worse than horribly wrong. Things only escalate from there.
Relationships: Darkel/Narvin, Narvin Darkel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	conclusion: penguin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delicatelyglitterywriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatelyglitterywriter/gifts).



> you’re welcome :3
> 
> \- andred

Narvin opened his eyes. “What do you want?”

“What do  _ you  _ want? ”

“I- When did I leave my office?”

“When you got that concussion, I imagine.”

Feeling faint, he closed his eyes again. “‘M’sorry... who are you?”

“You seriously hit your head that hard? For  Rassilon’s  sake, man, what were you thinking?”

“When what?”

“I give up.” He felt a body’s weight lift off what was presumably a mattress, and if he’d had the concentration would have raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

The door clicked shut. He gave up and threw the sheets covering him over his head.

* * *

“Any better?”

Narvin flinched. “When did you get here?”

“Hours ago. You just woke up.”

“...Ah.”

“Are you feeling any better? Simple question, surely even  you  can answer that.”

“Who are you?”

“For _fuck’s_ sake.”

“What kind of answer is that?” He opened his eyes; his vision was still blurry, but he felt less like he was about to faint at any moment. (Frankly, that had been  embarrassing. )

“Sit up, look at me, maybe you’ll be able to figue it out.”

He dragged himself up painstakingly, to find another Time Lord looking at him. 

She sniffed.“How horrible to see you again.”

“Horrible to see you too...” He paused for a moment. “Darkel?”

“No, I’m your darling Torvald.”

This time, Narvin  actually  raised an eyebrow. “Torvald is dead.”

“Good for him.” Darkel sat down on the only other piece of furniture in what Narvin was now recognising as...

A prison cell. “Rassilon, we’re in prison.”

“Ten points to Patrex! You spotted the  _ flaming fucking obvious! _ ”

“That’s rude.”

“ _I’m_ rude.” She stood back up, and opened the door.

_...And apparently you’re also leaving. Okay. _

* * *

Darkel returned in what felt like a while, but was most likely only ten extraordinarily grey minutes. In the time she was gone, he managed to properly sit up and analyse the room. Like any decent CIA agent, his first thought was that it needed redecorating. (One of the mandatory requirements for joining the CIA was a degree in stylising your environment. Also known as “sheer torture.”)

The walls were a drab grey, tiled and smooth to the touch. The floor was also a drab grey, although a far coarser material that scratched against his feet like his great-great-great-great-great-great-aunt Afyhkl’s handmade Academy uniforms. (This, and not the CIA spy training, was where Narvin had learnt how to quickly and efficiently dispose of clothes.) The ceiling was somehow an even drabber grey that would have made a villain hoping for a dramatic entrance cry, and would have given an art student an aneurysm.

In short, it was an accurate depiction of what Narvin imagined Darkel’s mind to look like. He noticed with dismay that the only window was a miniscule, impenetrable sheet of glass embedded into one wall, and the only other exit was a thick adamantium door that had all the flair of a dead pigeon.

“I’m back,” she declared. It had none of her usual (if painful) gravitas.

“If this is a prison, where did you go?”

“The toilet. That door over there isn’t locked, it leads to a tiny corridor with the way to the main prison, a toilet, and a cupboard with some clothes and other necessary supplies.”

“Do they have peanuts?”

“What the fuck is that.”

“Never mind.”

Darkel sat down on the bench again, and crossed her legs.

For a few more minutes nothing happened.

“So what did I miss?”

“Not much, you were only unconscious for three Otherfucking days,” she snapped. “In that time, we got arrested, stuck here, and there’s been no sign of anybody else we were with.”

“...Why were we even arrested?”

“Our Lady President suggested one of those ‘High Council teamwork building exercises.”

They gave each other a mutual look of annoyance.

“I’m glad you find Romana’s ideas as grating as I do. Moving on...”

Darkel then went on to explain how they’d been sent on a mission to collect a stolen artefact from Prince Destiel the TurboHell. Apparently, there’d been a minor skirmish between a renegade Time Lord and the planet Nevadutin (Destiel’s home planet) a few centuries ago, resulting in the renegade in question (who had, of course, stolen the artefact in question from the Academy) losing a regeneration, a hand, and inevitably the artefact. After years of meticulous planning and tracking, Romana sent the two of them after it on a whim.

“Of course she did.”

“Shut up, Narvin.” Darkel continued.

They’d arrived on the planet roughly a week or so ago, and used an old aristocrat’s mansion as a base. All had been going well right up until they’d got into a fight (“Entirely your fault, I might add,” Darkel sniffed) in the middle of the palace they were meant to be sneaking around, and had promptly been arrested by two (apparently quite attractive) guards.

“Unfortunately, you wouldn’t shut up, so one of them knocked you out. Sorry about that.” Darkel’s tone indicated zero sorriness or pity.

“Thanks! I appreciate it!”

“Look, I gave you the bed whilst you were unconscious.”

“For three days?” Narvin found himself genuinely shocked. She’d actually bothered to extend him some gratitude.

She flushed slightly. “It was- it was the least I could do. I mean...”

Narvin winced. “But that means... you slept on that bench? For three days? And you had no one to talk to?”

“Maybe?” Surprisingly, she looked almost sheepish.

“Wait... that means...”

“Yes, you dipshit. There’s-”

“Don’t say it-”

Darkel ignored him. “-Only one bed.”She smirked.

“Isn’t that Romana’s favourite hobby?”

“Can we please not discuss our President’s foot fetish fanfiction whilst we’re in jail?”

“Fine! Be that way!” Narvin turned to face the wall.

“Ah, I see you’ve finally engaged in a discussion with someone with the same depth of personality as you.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d rather not.”

Narvin screamed.

* * *

Darkel coughed. “So.”

“What?”

“It’s night time, don’t you want to sleep?”

“What kind of weirdo are you? No, I’d rather stay up all night listening to Romana being a liberal. Also,” she narrowed her eyes, “may I remind you that  there’s only one bed. ”

“And?”

“For _Rassilon’s_ sake, Narvin! Weren’t you paying attention to Romana Fanfiction Lessons 101? If there’s only one bed somebody is probably trying to seduce you, and not necessarily the person sharing a bed with you.”

“No offence, but I’d rather kiss a shark.”

“Full offence taken. I’ll make a note.”

They stared at each other.

“If you’re going to keep looking at me like a paperwork-obsessed puppy, first I will kick you and then I will shoot myself.”

“Does that mean you want to share the bed?”

“Yes, with your  corpse. ” But Darkel got into the bed anyway.

* * *

Narvin awoke on the floor. For a minute he was confused as to why his hair was attached to carpet and not to, say, his head, but a brief inspection of his surroundings and walking to the toilet to wash his face cleared up any lingering confusion.

“Have you spotted any ways to escape yet?”

“Yes,” Darkel said, “I’ve got a spoon that we can dig a hole in the floor with.”

He shot her a glare. “Are you going to tell me why I woke up on the floor?”

“Oh, I kicked you off. You hit your head  again,  by the way. Stop that.”

“I- you pushed me off!” he yelled.

“It’s not exactly my fault that gravity exists!” Darkel snapped back.

“Gravity is irrelevant! You PUSHED ME!”

“By Omega’s fucking hands, no wonder everybody hates you if you’re THIS insufferable! How did you even get control of your penguin armada when most people can’t tolerate more than a minute in your general vicinity?”

“Democratically! Unlike you,” he sneered.

Before either of them could go any further, the door swung open. “King’s prisoners?”

“No, we’re here by complete coincidence,” Darkel said in a far too sweet tone.

One of the guards, a blue-haired triped, cocked xir head. “Are you hearing thissss?”

_No,_ sniffed the other (hah. Other.).  _ Telepathic species only, or have you forgotten? _

“Oh, ssssshut up.”

_ Shan’t. _

“Gods, you’re as bad as Coordinator Narc over here. No wonder this planet is in ruins if you’re all like this.”

“Coordinator Narc-” Narvin shrieked and shoved her into a wall. “You take that back RIGHT NOW or else I swear, I bloody _swear_ you will regret it.”

“Ssssilence, prissssonersssss. Tell ussss why you tried to ssssteal our artefact and we may let you go.”

“No,” Darkel said, before Narvin could get any further.

_ Alright then! Have fun rotting to death.  _ The telepath’s skin rippled in colour, from neon green to beige.

Darkel shrugged. “As long as Narc here dies first, that’s fine by me.”

The door locked.

“You fucked that up horribly.”

“Thanks!” Darkel got into the bed and ignored him. “For that, you’re sleeping on the floor today.”

* * *

“My back hurts.”

“Your fault for sleeping on the floor.” Darkel stared at the ceiling instead of him.

“Wh- I’m sorry, who exactly made me sleep on the floor again?”

“I told you to use the floor, I never told you to sleep there.”

“You literally said “You’re sleeping on the floor today!””

“And then I said-”

But he’d never know what Darkel might have said (not that he cared, OBVIOUSLY), because at that point the building started shaking. “What-” 

“If you start hyperventilating again...”

“What was that?” Narvin looked unusually timid.

“No idea.” Darkel squinted at the ceiling. “Time distortion, I think. Can’t you taste it?”

He nodded slightly. “Um. Burnt artron. I think.”

“How fucking oblivious are you? Amy reasonable Time Lord could smell that from [arbitrary Time Lord measurement equivalent to miles] away.”

“Look, I know your job is literally to talk as annoyingly as possible, but for once in your skull-shatteringly infuriating lives could you leave me and my broken nose alone?”

“What in Rassilon’s name- Narvin, since WHEN has a broken nose affected sense of smell?”

“Fuck you too.”

Narvin paused.

“And don’t take me up on that offer, thanks. I’m  ace. ”

* * *

“D’you reckon that time distortion was Romana?”

“If it is, I’m incredibly disappointed and incredibly unsurprised. Typically obvious and dangerous, probably no backup plan and if I know Romana — which I  don’t,  don’t you dare accuse me of getting along with her — likely to create more problems than it solves! Or it might blow up horrifically in our faces. Literally. Which, whilst it would be bad for me, would at least solve the problem of your continued existence.” Darkel looked at him once again, but there was less snarky aggression to it. Not softness, no, but something akin to the quiet warmth she’d shown when Narvin had first woken up.

“Right.”

“Oh, we’re going to be here at least a few more hours, Narvin. But from the strength of the artron I smell? It won’t be so long until we’re out.”

“Hooray,” he said, a little defeated. “Fantastic news.”

_ And then we’ll never have to see each other again, because we don’t like each other at all and there is NO universe where we could possibly be any more than associates. _

Narvin stared at the floor, unsure as to why he was so miserable.

-

The building started crashing around again. “Yes, that’s definitely Romana,” Darkel sniffed.

“You really don’t like her, do you?”

“None of your business! Fuck off.”

“Alright then-”

Darkel grabbed him by the sleeve, and pinned him up against the wall. “Don’t test me,” she gritted her teeth, “ penguin. ”

“How DARE you-”

He was unable to continue, however, cut off by a harsh kiss that knocked the wind out of him. Unable to react for several seconds, he stood there, shocked-

And then a segment of the wall opposite them fell away, and Romana barged in, uninvited. “Hello! I’ve come here to save your l- What the fuck are you two doing? Guys, this is not the time.”

Darkel spun on one heel. “Lady President—”

“Narvin! My least favourite penguin. How’s it hanging?”

At that he managed to regain some semblance of verbality. “For the last time, I am NOT a PENGUIN!” 

“But are you?” Darkel said slyly.

“No!”

“I hate to agree with the Inquisitor, but I’m afraid  you’re  in the wrong here.” Romana dragged both of them out to her Tardis, and shoved them inside. “Bye!”

It dematerialised, heading back to Gallifrey. “They can deal with their own problems, I’ll teleport back home when I’ve done the job they failed so miserably at.”

Romana turned around to face the wreckage of the prison complex. “Oh no, what a mess,” she said, completely failing to acknowledge she had caused the mess.

Out of sheer curiosity, she poked a foot inside the rubble, and looked around the remainders of the jail. 

“Oh Rassilon.”

It finally dawned upon her.

“...there was only one bed.”


End file.
